The Big C
by sillybitch7
Summary: I'm John Dorian. I'm 32 years old. I have Leukemia.   Eventual JD/Cox.
1. Prolouge

**It's not based off the show The Big C- I just borrowed the title. I've never seen the show actually, so any similarities are purely coincidental. Hopefully this won't be like all the other BAWW JD GETS CANCER stories.**

**Letsaaa go.**

**(xxx)**

So you find out you have cancer, and it's a really big deal. Serious faced doctor, that dreaded "I have some bad news" line. And you find out that you have this serious disease, and you hear your options (get treatment and maybe live or refuse treatment and die die die.) And you go home, and somehow you don't have it in you to pick up your phone and call someone- _anyone_- and tell them.

And that's basically how it went down for me.

I'm John Dorian. I'm 32 years old. I have Leukemia.

(xxx)

When I went to the doctors, I though it was the flu. I was overworked, and riding my scooter around on chilly nights couldn't have been doing wonders to my health. I had flu-like symptoms- fevers, feeling weak, tired all the time, joint pain, weight loss.

They ran some blood tests, said they'd have the results in twenty-four to forty-eight hours, the typical doctor spiel. That night I went home was the night my gums started bleeding. Of course, I assumed gingivitis or something. Wasn't thinking too hard. It's funny; if anyone else had these symptoms I could have called Leukemia in a heartbeat. But when it's yourself, it's different. You never want to admit something is as bad as it really is.

To say was I shocked when I received the news would be an understatement. My jaw literally dropped. I'm surprised I didn't faint in the hospital right then and there. It would be convenient place to take a fall, that's for sure.

So they gave me the news, and we discussed the options (radiation seemed like the best one) and I went on my merry way home. I didn't really know what I do when I got back to my empty apartment, which was freezing by the way. Call my friends? Call Dr. Cox? Call mom? Call Dan? In the end I couldn't bring myself to pick up that phone. And the C word never came up in conversation. So I just didn't tell anyone, and kept going on with life even though radiation therapy has be doubled up over the toilet seat puking my face off.

Why did I keep silent?

Well, I guess I'm still trying to find that out.


	2. My Big Lie

It's been a busy day at the hospital, and the fact that I'm still in recovery after another round of radiation isn't helping anything. I've had two patients crash, and one of them didn't pull through. That's the thing about hospitals, some people come in just to die. It's sad, but it's the truth.

"Bambi, stay on top of things," Carla scolded me, handing me a few more charts. I guess I had zoned out a little. Apparently cancer can do that to a guy. "Whatever problems you're having at home, lave them there. When you come into the hospital, have a clear head. You're a good doctor Bambi, stay that way."

I watched Carla walk off and had to bite my lip to keep in a bray of laughter. See, the quietness, the feebleness, the nervousness, the missing of days- all those things were caused by my C word. But Carla, Turk, hell, even Dr. Cox all were under the impression that my abnormal attitude was caused by a new relationship with some sort of mystery girl.

It's funny how wrong they are.

(xxx)

"Time of death, 9:43 pm," I announce, feeling pretty down. It was my third death that day, and my head was pounding and dizzy. Thankfully my shift ended in less than twenty minutes.

I'm on my way to the bathroom to- hopefully- puke when Dr. Cox stops me with that officious little whistle of his. Not now, not now. If I don't make it to the bathroom, my lunch is going all over the hallway floor. That'll make Janitor _love_ me.

"Listen up here Carol," he starts, fully prepared to knock me down a peg with another one of his infamous rants. "You had three patients die under your watch today, way to go. I don't know what's going on in your tiny little brain right now, and normally I wouldn't care, but when you come in here and kill off three people I _do_ care."

Ugh, I am so not feeling up for this. I close my eyes and try to block out the sound of his rant, but it's hard. That's the trouble with radiation- the after effects. My whole body is aching all over, and I'm pretty sure that if I open my eyes I'll hurl all over Perry's shoes. This sucks, cancer sucks.

"...not to mention you've missed so much work recently, it's hard to believe you still even work here."

"Perry," I finally manage to squeak out, opening my eyes and trying to steady out the world. "I have to go now." I brush past him, at this point not even caring that he's following me right on my ass. I burst into the bathroom and start vomiting into the nearest toilet. I can feel Per standing behind me, watching me, hopefully concerned. I try to focus on that, but it's a little hard when burning hot vile is shooting out of your throat.

Finally I finish and collapse weakly next to the toilet. I probably look like I'm dead right now.

"You okay there, Newbie?" Dr. Cox finally asks me, his voice void of any emotion. Typical Perry, hiding the fact that he cares about me. I offer a weak smile.

"I'm fine." It's weird how that's rapidly become the biggest lie I'm ever told. Everyday I tell it. Where was I yesterday, was I sick? Nope, fine. Bambi, you look a little peaky, is everything alright? I'm fine. It's easy to tell, too. I use to suck at lying. But apparently having cancer makes you a better liar.

"You don't look fine," to my surprise he's feeling my forehead, which apparently he decides is too warm because he tells me to go home, get some rest, and perform better tomorrow or it'll be his foot up my ass.


	3. My Survival Rate

My hair is becoming really thin. I don't know if it's because of the radiation or if maybe I'm just a freak, but I'm going to guess it's the radiation. So I bought some new shampoo, that's suppose to had volume and body. It's a girls shampoo, but I have Luekemia. I'm allowed to use girl shampoos.

I'm a little wrapped up in worrying about my thinning hair to notice that Turk was talking to me. He hits me on my shoulder, which makes me flinch a lot. It wasn't that hard of a hit, but it _hurt._ "What?" I half scream, mostly out of surprise.

"I asked if you wanted to go out for drinks after work," he repeats, giving me a confused look. "You feeling okay there?"

"I'm fine, and I don't know." I'm hesitant to drink while undergoing radiation, since it's against the rules. I'm hesitant to drink while I have cancer, actually. I'm pretty sure a hangover mixed with Luekemia wouldn't work out too well. I'd be pretty damn sick. "I have a lot of stuff to do when I get home. I have to..." shit, shit, shit, what do I have to do? Laundry? Fuck yeah, laundry! "...do laundry. Lot's of it. So much laundry Turk," I explain, and in a quieter voice repeat "so much laundry."

"Come on man! We haven't hung out outside of work in forever!" he's giving me a hurt puppy dog look, and it's killing me. I'm almost tempted to tell him right then and there, but I swallow that urge. He can't know. It would devastate him.

"I'm sorry," I say, and almost feel like crying. How many times have I blown off my best friend now? It wasn't fair to him at all. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Alright, promise?"

"Promise," I give him a weak smile and he scampers off to go remove someone's gallbladder.

I wish I could tell him.

(xxx)

I lived up to my promise,and right now Turk and I are watching _The War_- I got to pick the movies. Of course, when the dad dies I will cry, as I will forever do. This time maybe I'll cry harder, because that could be me. I could be dead. Radiation might not work. I mean, I think there's only a fifty percent survival rate for people of my age anyway. Who's to say I won't die?

What would happen if I did die? Who would get my stuff? I guess Turk. And Dan. They could split it. Should I write out a will?

Fifty percent. So there's a half chance of me living. And a half chance of me dying.

Holy fuck, I'm scared.


End file.
